Precious Few
by kci47
Summary: Two hours. One hundred and twenty minutes. Seventy-two hundred seconds. Seven million, two hundred thousand milliseconds. Hermione Granger has calculated them all, because she only lives her life in two-hour windows. What would you do, if you had just a precious few moments of time? EWE, AU in that Snape is alive.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

At first, it had seemed like such a brilliant idea. _Breakthrough_, they called it, when she submitted the preliminary hypothesis to the scholarly journals. _She's certainly living up to the hype_, they said while they smiled indulgently at her after she presented her trial studies. _Smartest witch of the age_, they agreed, clapping her on the back or shaking her hand when she received a prestigious grant from the Ministry to pursue her experimentation more fully at Hogwarts after her NEWTs were complete. All told, she ought to have been _celebrated_ in the history books—not held up as an example to future generations of students, the epitome of what _not _to do.

Hermione's NEWT study had been a rare mix of Potions and Transfiguration; an extension of her unfortunate incident with the cat-hair Polyjuice in second year. Shouldn't there be a way, she reasoned, to take the basic premise of Animagus transformation and put it into a potion? So the witch or wizard merely had to drop a bit of whatever animal they wanted to become into the elixir, drink it, and transform, without the potentially dangerous side effects of a purely animal-based Polyjuice? Both McGonagall and Snape had agreed to take her on, one of them far more enthusiastically than the other, but agreed they had, and Hermione had set out to make it happen.

And she had been successful, in theory. In study. On paper. _Hypothetically_.

Her study won a multitude of awards, to the point that she only had room to display the ones that came with an actual trophy on her mantelpiece. She was granted full access to her own lab at Hogwarts and her experiments were fully funded by the Ministry. Minerva was so very _proud_. Professor Snape had stared coolly at her and said, "Congratulations," which was his personal equivalent of an energetic high-five from anyone else. She was at the top of her game, the peak of her performance, and her future was extremely promising.

But having a thesis that experts agreed was technically correct was a far different matter than _knowing _you were right. And she wanted to know. So badly.

The first time she'd plunged into the Black Lake and cut powerfully through the water, her dolphin form navigating easily, she was ecstatic. The first time she'd stood on strong, thick hind legs and growled loud enough to shake the forest in her grizzly form was euphoric. And there was no higher high than flying through the air, wings extended and hawk eyes picking out the forms of miniscule mice on the ground with ease. She began building a library of animals, great and small, magical and muggle. Her favorites to date were the fox—so clever; the dragon—so mighty; and the ant—so tiny, but so sure of its place and so dedicated to its cause. She didn't care for the Blast-Ended Skrewt or most sea creatures, but the experiences had been eye-opening all the same.

So, her Transfiguration potions worked. Now Hermione began to test their limits. What happened if you drank two in quick succession? (The more dominant animal won out, and you were left with the worst headache imaginable.) Could you perform magic while in animal form? (Only if you had your wand strung around your neck and were good with nonverbal spells.) Was there a way to remain clothed throughout? (Nope—she was naked as the day she was born every time she transformed back.) But at least she'd learned to keep her wand on a necklace and a change of clothes nearby.

However, there was a reason that using yourself as a test subject was frowned upon. A reason that scientists and wizards alike generally refused to perform human trials except under the most watchful eye. And that reason was that when—not if—something went wrong, the consequences were usually dire. And that's how Hermione Granger became a cautionary tale in magical history.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"Och, my gracious!" Professor McGonagall attempted to shoo the hawk that had just flown into her office, but the bird simply settled itself on her desk and stared at her. "Out!" McGonagall tried again, pointing to the window. The hawk seemed to shake its head _no_. The two stared at one another for a long moment, and then McGonagall shrugged. "Suit yourself," she told it, sitting back at her desk and resuming her grading.

The hawk came to stand on her paper, however, and McGonagall set her quill down with enough force to rattle the inkpot. "Can I _help _you!" she exclaimed, aggravated and yet abashed that she was allowing a bird to upset her.

Oddly, the bird bobbed its head up and down rapidly, almost as though it was nodding. McGonagall couldn't help but smile at the creature's antics, and she opened a drawer to grab a biscuit. "Would you like—"

Before she could even offer it, the bird had knocked the biscuit from her hand and moved closer, until they were almost beak-to-nose. McGonagall had never seen a creature act this way before. It was almost as if...as if... But no, it couldn't be. As a registered Animagus herself, McGonagall knew there were none currently residing in the castle. If a student _had _been experimenting with the spell then she would have surely known about that too... A horrible thought struck. "Miss Granger?"

The bird removed itself from in front of her face and again its head bobbed up and down frantically. "Oh, dear. What are you—how did this—whatever have you _done_?"

The bird—no, Hermione—looked around the office and then flew to the chalkboard. She gripped a piece of chalk in her beak and began to awkwardly drag her face around the board, clearly attempting to communicate. McGonagall waited, curious and nervous. What on earth could the girl be playing at?

Finally, she seemed to get frustrated because she threw the chalk on the ground and turned to glare at McGonagall. Or perhaps she wasn't glaring, but it was hard to tell. The hawk's eyes only seemed to relay one expression. Looking at the scribbles on the board, McGonagall was at a loss. There was a long squiggle, then perhaps a plus sign, then some kind of wavy bit—it was no good. She couldn't understand what the girl was trying to say.

"One moment, please, Miss Granger," McGonagall implored the bird. She quickly called Filius and Severus and, after a moment's thought, Hagrid. Then they waited in silence, McGonagall trying to figure out what was going on and Hermione fluttering her wings agitatedly. Flitwick was the first to arrive, tumbling through the fireplace and hurrying over. Hagrid banged into the room shortly after, looking wildly about and clearly expecting there to be some sort of trouble.

McGonagall pointed to the hawk. "_That _is Hermione Granger. She needs—something—but I'm afraid I can't interpret what she's written on the board." The other professors gaped at Hermione, clearly as stunned as McGonagall was herself. "I don't even know what kind of bird she is at present."

"That's a goshawk, that is," Hagrid said, stepping forward and picking her up tenderly. "And a pretty one too, aren't ye?" he muttered, stroking the bird's back. Hermione seemed to relax at this and nipped her beak gently at Hagrid's finger. "Don' worry, Hermione, we'll figure it out," he soothed. Then he looked up at Flitwick and McGonagall. "Won' we?"

"I'm not even sure what's happened," McGonagall admitted. "She flew in here a few minutes ago, got my attention, then tried to tell me something. I just can't read it." She gestured uselessly at the board again.

Flitwick stepped forward and examined the marks. "Maybe if she tried with a quill and her talons?" he suggested.

"Isn't it obvious?" came a disdainful drawl from the doorway. McGonagall spun to see Professor Snape entering her office, his eyes fixed on the hawk and a grim smile on his features. "Miss Granger was playing with things that ought not to be played with, and now she's stuck." The slow way he drew out the word _stuck _made it seem very sinister.

Flitwick's gasp brought McGonagall back around to the board. The Charms professor was tracing the chalk markings with a finger. "Of course! That's what she's tried to spell here—_stuck_!"

All three professors now looked at Hermione, and in response, she buried her head beneath her wing.

* * *

**A/N: So this popped into my head last night...I'm not sure WHY I was thinking about the Animorphs series, but I was, and then this happened. Thus my plot has been inspired by those books and more specifically, Tobias' _nothlit_ status. However, I have no rights to either those books or Harry Potter, /disclaimer. **


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Well, well, well. Isn't this fascinating." Snape sounded almost gleeful, and McGonagall shot him a disproving glare.

"Severus, the poor girl is a _hawk_! We must find a way to change her back!"

Snape's good humor vanished. "How can we do that when we don't even know what the issue is? Use your brains, all of you! The girl has clearly been ingesting her own Transfiguration potions and something has gone awry!"

Silence reigned in the office until Hagrid burst into tears. "What're we gonna do?" he wailed, clutching Hermione tighter in his anguish. She squawked and freed herself, coming to rest on McGonagall's desk again and glaring at Professor Snape. The dour man simply crossed his arms and glared back.

"Calm yourself, Hagrid," McGonagall said, patting the half-giant on the arm. "Severus will figure it out, won't you?"

"Me?" The Potions master spun on his heel to face her. "Minerva, I hardly think—"

"You said yourself—she's ingested a potion. Potions are your expertise. Besides, her lab is next to yours—I'm sure she's kept detailed notes. Maybe there's something useful there."

Snape scoffed but McGonagall forged ahead. "Filius and I shall help in any way we can, of course, but I do think you're the one best suited to undo—whatever has happened here." She looked sadly at the hawk, which was backing up on the desk and shaking its head _no_ again. Snape was scowling fiercely, but in the end, he simply strode out the door, calling back "Come, Miss Granger," imperiously as he went.

McGonagall was forced to revise her opinion of the hawk's expressions, because the look Hermione shot her way now was most certainly terrified. Nevertheless, she eventually flew out the door, leaving McGonagall and Flitwick to comfort a still-sniffling Hagrid.

* * *

In the end, it had taken the considerable skills of both McGonagall and Snape to release Hermione from her hawk form. Snape's eyes had widened comically when she had tumbled, human again and entirely naked, off her perch on his laboratory table and into his chest. She would have been embarrassed, except that she was so utterly relieved to be back to herself that she hadn't thought a thing of it; instead simply throwing her arms around him and bursting into tears. McGonagall had quickly Transfigured her some robes then set about making tea. An hour later, Hermione had revealed the entire tale of her experimentation, and endured a blistering set-down from Professor Snape. She knew she deserved that and worse, however, so endure it she did, nodding meekly at all the right points.

Eventually McGonagall had bundled her off to her rooms for a rest, patting her arm sympathetically even as she expressed her disapproval of Hermione's reckless endangerment of herself and others. Once again, Hermione agreed with McGonagall's assessment of her rash behavior, so she ducked her head and promised McGonagall it wouldn't happen again. Once she was alone, she climbed into bed and fell into an uneasy sleep.

She was rudely awakened, however, when she spontaneously transformed back into the goshawk.

* * *

**A/N: Oh, Hermione. Tsk tsk. **


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"_Squwwwwechhh_!" Hermione's muttered obscenity came out as a piercing squawk instead. _Why am I back in hawk form? _she wondered. There was nothing for it—she'd have to seek out her professors and have them perform their magic yet again. And hopefully determine why it hadn't lasted all that long in the first place.

She flew partway to the door before remembering that she wouldn't be able to open it anyway. She executed a graceful turn and flew to the window, but it was shut tight. _Uh oh_. Both she and the ever-present hawk's mind began to panic, her fight-or-flight instinct exaggerated by the hawk's nature. Hermione flew one, two, three loops around her room—there was no way out. _Damn, damn, damn_.

After slamming into the door once, Hermione determined not to do that anymore. So she began screeching, again and again, as loud as she could, hoping that someone would come to investigate.

* * *

It took nearly thirty minutes, but eventually Professor McGonagall flung the door open and ran in, looking around the room until she spotted Hermione, limp on the floor and hoarsely squawking. The professor scooped her up and tutted, but she stroked Hermione's feathered head reassuringly as they sped down to the dungeons. When Professor Snape yanked open the door to his private quarters, he scowled but waved them in.

McGonagall set Hermione gently on a couch cushion with a little bowl of water beside her, then she and Professor Snape whispered worriedly in the corner. Both occasionally shot her troubled glances, although Professor Snape's were a bit more on the _How did I become entangled in this _side. Hermione was too weak and frightened to try to listen in, although with the hawk's enhanced hearing she could understand them clear as day.

It didn't make any sense! They had freed her from her Transfigured animal form. And she had been asleep—how could she have performed the magic to change back? Her wand had been on her nightstand, in the vicinity but certainly not in her possession at the time. There must be _something _she was missing. If only she could get her hands on her notes...

Sighing inwardly, Hermione got herself upright and flew over to land on Professor McGonagall's shoulder, trying to be very careful with the placement of her talons. Both professors abruptly stopped talking, and Hermione attempted to pantomime 'writing' with one foot while bobbing her head encouragingly. At least, she thought she was being encouraging. Judging by Professor Snape's dour countenance, she was probably just looking ridiculous.

After a moment where both professors stared at her, confused, Hermione gave up her charades. McGonagall, however, seemed to understand her defeated posture.

"We must change her back again," McGonagall said to Snape.

"I am concerned that we are fooling with magic we know nothing about," Snape replied, his black eyes boring into Hermione's orange hawk eyes. "It was one thing to simply release the girl from what amounts to an Animagus form, but for her to have spontaneously changed back..." He shook his head and looked to McGonagall.

"We can't just _leave _her!" McGonagall cried.

Professor Snape exhaled very slowly through his nose, looking murderous. "Fine. We shall change her back—_again_—and then Miss Granger will accompany me to her lab where we will comb over every last notation, memory, and nuance until we determine what has happened. And I will not hear any opposition to any of my methods, from either of you."

Hermione drew herself up to her full hawk height and glared at Professor Snape. He wanted to paw through her _memories_? How rude! And untrustworthy! They had all reviewed her thesis; surely he knew that the theory was sound. She waited for McGonagall to object, but to her surprise, the older woman simply nodded and said, "As you wish, Severus."

Hermione ruffled her wings agitatedly. Two sets of eyes turned back to her and McGonagall added, "Just remember what she's been through, if you please. A little kindness would go a long way, I'm sure."

The women turned and exited the room before he had a chance to respond, but Hermione's hawk hearing told her _exactly _how he felt about _that_.

* * *

**A/N: Some explanations for Hermione's problem coming in the next chapter!**


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

This time, Hermione was prepared for the change back to her human form, and she managed to remain upright on her own two feet. McGonagall hurried to Transfigure her some clothing, but Professor Snape held up a hand to stop the older woman when she made to drape the robes around Hermione's nakedness.

"I need to inspect for any hint as to why this is happening," he offered by way of explanation.

McGonagall's sharp gasp echoed Hermione's own. "Severus, you can't—"

But those were the wrong words. He spun on McGonagall, nostrils flared. "You may not like it, but you must admit we need to cover every avenue! You and Miss Granger both agreed to this and any other so-called invasion of privacy when you asked for my assistance." The two professors stared one another down, while Hermione inched towards the forgotten robe. Eventually Snape relented enough to say, "You may stay if you wish but I will not be questioned again."

McGonagall looked to Hermione, who quickly snatched the robe and held it protectively in front of her. "It's okay, Professor," Hermione said. "I'll be fine. I know Professor Snape will be nothing short of professional." She glared at Snape as she said it. In truth, she could only hope that he completed his assessment in silence, rather than in cutting criticism. Regardless, it was not an event that she wanted Professor McGonagall present for.

"Very well. Do not hesitate to send your Patronus if you need me," McGonagall instructed Hermione, giving Snape one last hard look before exiting Hermione's dungeon lab. The door had only just swung shut when Hermione felt the robe ripped from her grasp.

"Hey!" She reached over to swipe it back, but Snape simply tossed it far behind him. Hermione crossed her arms over herself, but then he'd pointed his wand and body-bound her, arms outstretched and legs splayed.

"You may cover yourself when I am done," he told her, his eyes traveling over her body. Hermione's cheeks flamed but there was nothing she could do, so she settled for staring at him with as much anger as she could channel into her expression. She searched his face for any sign of his feelings, but his look was purely clinical as he circled her and then bent to examine her feet. Slowly, his gaze fell over every square inch of skin; he rose bit by bit as he searched her ankles, then her calves, knees, and thighs. Hermione made a point of looking up at the ceiling when he reached the juncture of her legs and pelvic region—she did _not _need that horrible image in her head. Thankfully, he didn't spend any more time looking at her most private area than he had at her ankles, but it was still unnerving. When he stood and walked behind her, Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She wasn't comfortable with her professor staring at her bum, either, but at least he wasn't in her line of sight.

A ghost of a touch on the back of her hip surprised her and she would have jumped a foot in the air had she not been magically frozen in place.

"I'm surprised," came the cryptic comment, and Hermione remembered the tiny symbol she'd had tattooed there after the war in a fit of recklessness: the Deathly Hallows. Deciding his comment didn't warrant a response, she pressed her lips together and stared straight ahead. When Snape came back around into her vision, she could have sworn one corner of his mouth was tilted in a smile.

But that expression soon changed when he began his catalogue of her arms. Bellatrix's _Mudblood _was looking better these days, thanks to a scar-reducing ointment she'd been ordering from _Witch's Whimsy_, but she had resigned herself to seeing the ugly word for the rest of her life. However, Snape was looking downright furious. And he was continuing to stare. Hermione frowned.

"Professor?" she prodded.

"No one deserves this," he snarled at her, tearing his eyes away and coming to stand fully in front of her. Hermione was taken aback by his vehemence, but she supposed everyone was entitled to their triggers. As he continued his perusal, she wondered if perhaps he too had had similar run-ins with the late Lestrange.

And then his eyes scanned across her breasts, and Hermione's thoughts were scattered. She closed her eyes and counted to twenty, hoping that when she looked again Professor Snape would have moved on to another portion of her body. It couldn't be too much longer before she'd be able to get dressed...

Another feather-light touch just under her collarbone surprised her again. Snape was—tracing her Department of Mysteries scar? Hermione slitted one eye open and was shocked to see what appeared to be genuine dismay on her professor's face. Her eyes opened considerably wider when he _apologized_.

"I regret that I was unable to prevent this," he told her, glancing up to meet her eyes briefly before returning his gaze to her scar. "I was focused on counteracting the curse, at the time, and then it was too late to think about cosmetics—"

"It's, um, it's fine. Please don't apologize. You, er, saved my life. So thank you." Merlin, how badly she wanted to fidget right now! As if this wasn't the most uncomfortable conversation she'd ever had in her life, she was also having it completely bared to her professor's unreadable eyes. "Um, are we done?"

To her great relief, Snape scanned her face and neck rather quickly before releasing the spell that held her. Hermione hurriedly stumbled to the crumpled robe and pulled it on. "What's next?" she asked, trying to remain civil in light of his apparent remorse for her scar.

"Next, we try to keep you human," he snapped, the moment over. Hermione sighed and reached for her notebooks.

* * *

**A/N: Okay so this scene kind of went in its own direction, but explanations coming soon, I promise! I took some liberties with the idea of Hermione getting tatted, and I always keep the movie-canon 'Mudblood' scar in there, because that scene was just so powerful!**


End file.
